4

7 years later…..

Hello headbangers!

It’s that time of year again. The heavy woolly overcoat that is my TBI anniversary. This year I’ve made a video. Please do watch and comment, I value everyone’s input.

Also if you have a YouTube account you can subscribe to me as I do put up little videos in between my monthly posts that don’t get shared here.

On with the show as they say

3

“You’re breaking free and the morning’s come”

I swore I’d never be one of those people. The ones who cry and write about a famous person dying. Yet here I am, crying and writing. It came from an unexpected yet completely understandable source. A person who I had unknowingly locked away in my subconscious and who was, as I found out, still living there in full technicolour.

Yesterday the mighty Keith Flint of The Prodigy was found dead at home from an apparent suicide. Mr Braingirl told me the news after seeing it on social media. Initially I don’t think I understood what was being said. I just said something along the lines of ‘oh no, that’s terrible’. Then as it sunk in I became increasingly saddened by what I’d heard.

Keith and The Prodigy were a HUGE part of my 90’s experience. A snapshot in my history where summers were long, life was endless and anything was possible. I think a lot of people had that experience in the 90’s especially the early part (91-95). I was a crusty grunger, all dreadlocks and charity shop layers. I had discovered legal (and some not so legal!) ways of juicing every last drop of joy and adventure out of life. I primarily listened to guitar music, the heavy, melancholy, angst ridden stuff. Then along came Keith, Liam, Leeroy and Maxim. The gateway drug to my raving. A world of drum n’ bass, breakbeat and acid techno.

The Prodigy were electronic music but they were also punk as f**k. They are one of the few acts that leapt through musical barriers. Crusty punk metal techno ravers. Liam is a genius who melded all his musical influences into one snarling, wild, genre-defying, aggressive, kick you in the nuts musical beast. Liam was the musical genius and Keith was the in your face conduit of that genius. I remember when Firestarter was released and how Keith was perceived as ‘scary’ by the establishment, I never thought Keith was scary, he was exciting and inticing. They were just as awesome (if not better) live as on record. I saw them live a few times, I think my first experience was Glasto ‘95. I scaled the wall and stayed for nearly a week. It was the second summer of love and I remember it well. A scorching hot Summer and a time when I was loving life and embracing freedom.

Seeing The Prodigy live blew my mind, they gave it everything, a sonic blast to the soul. A band that froze time and made you feel free. They were anti-establishment, no apologies, the flag bearers for the Criminal Justice Bill protests and a place where, no matter what music you liked we all brushed shoulders in that crowd and LOVED The Prodigy. A band not for the suits and the music business, they were a band for the people. The Prodigy made you feel like you were part of something much bigger than yourself. We were a moshing, pogo-ing ecstatic family.

So losing Keith is a great personal loss for his band mates and family but it is also a massive loss for a point in history. The last dance of the mad bastards. A time before music started to become safe and about image and celebrity. A time where you could stand in a field and get your face melted off and have the best time of your life. It is also, and I didn’t know it until yesterday, selfishly, a great loss for me. Losing Keith also feels like I’ve lost an old part of myself, the part that felt invincible and immortal and knew that music transcended all the bullshit. A snapshot of braingirl, 18 yrs old in 1995, kicking arse and taking names. Something The Prodigy and Keith personified for me.

I smiled this morning as I thought of all the stereos in houses and cars across the world blasting out The Prodigy yesterday, all remembering and being grateful for the memories and the moment in time that The Prodigy came rocketing into their lives.

Rave In Power Keith. The world is a little less brave and colourful today.

My condolences to everyone who is feeling a bit broken by this news.

4

Keep hope alive.

We’re in the strange twilight zone between Xmas and new year where you don’t know what day it is and there’s a feeling of impatience, of waiting. Waiting for what exactly, you don’t know. It’s a time where I notice I go inward, even more so than usual, I start thinking about what I’ve acheived, what I haven’t acheived and how I’d like my life to look. The reality never matches my imaginings (think sunshine and cornfields with floaty dresses and bare feet) but I still do it or things will get very bleak indeed.

I have recently had a downturn in my mental health, I have been very exhausted but mainly my cells have been full of sadness. Waking up every day and feeling like it’s an obstacle course is tiring and disheartening . I’m also aware I’m not accepting what has happened, I refuse to, because living like this is just not good enough for me. Then comes the guilts and the shames for still feeling this way, wondering why a smart person like myself just can’t get over this. There’s the rub you see, it doesn’t matter how smart you are, it takes the time it takes.

As a result of my decline I’m back at Counselling and have been referred back into Brain Injury towers, that amusement park of services where you close your eyes and hope for the best. I’m grateful that they exist, I am, but it all just feels too little too late, too disjointed. A session I had at Counselling the other week brought up the notion of hope and how throughout all of this I always had hope, it was this that made me still have my imaginings of a healed braingirl and all the amazing stuff I was going to do, it was hope that made me carry on, it was hope that was sometimes the only thing that made me brush my teeth and go to the toilet.

But recently, my hope had disappeared. This was worrying, as in the absence of hope, I had nothing. That’s when I felt REALLY broken. That feeling of the final straw. I was starting to think I couldn’t do this anymore, to keep getting up after having your legs swiped from under you has its limit it would seem. I am a stubborn mofo but I was starting to feel I had no strength left.

As you may or may not know, I came off all social media last year, because it was so full of hyperbole that it was sapping my will. I stayed on Instagram because I enjoy the pretty pictures, I also enjoy the fact that you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I was lazily scrolling through my feed earlier and dipping into some comment sections and I noticed that a lack of hope was creeping in there too. There was one particular individual (not on my follow list) who was just plastering Vegan accounts with despair and nihilism. He was a younger fella so he may be doing that teenage emo thing but it got me thinking about the nature of hope and how intrinsic it has been in recovery. It also got me thinking about hope on a wider scale. It doesn’t take much to trigger my PTSD and I am very careful about what I feed my brain so it only took this one kid to send me into a despair spiral about climate change and why intelligent people (who think of themselves as fair minded) still keep oppressing animals, why don’t they get it, why nothings ever going to change, the sky is falling in etc etc etc. Then I stopped myself and realised that firstly I felt sorry for this person, to be so young and so free of hope must be very scary indeed but it also kick started my hope accelerator. How can he have given up I asked myself. There is always hope, there has to be. 

I don’t want to live in a world out of hope, heck, I don’t even want to live in my own body without hope. If you’re out of hope, plant something, make a list of things you’d like to do, let yourself lie in bed and have your wild imaginings about that day where you are healed and free. The plant may die, the guitar may go unplayed and you may never be fully healed but for that second, you got a boost in your hope centre and your neurons laid a stepping stone that helped lead you towards a moment of sunshine.

Now playing: ‘No hard feelings’ – The Avett Brothers

I found this poem called ‘Wild Geese’ and somewhow it fits. It’s lovely. Please read it.

E6D5B057-C7FC-4A7A-A21F-77254CCEC318